


Talk

by CawingCorvid



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Flower Crowns, Geralt and Dandelion have an open relationship, Geralt is a gentle lover send tweet, M/M, Multi, Non-Explicit Sex, Not Beta Read, Sharing a Bed, Succubi & Incubi, except for the 'black eyes from potions' show thing, incubi and succubi have pheromones but they do not override a person's ability to consent, mix of book and game canon mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23087266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CawingCorvid/pseuds/CawingCorvid
Summary: Geralt and Dandelion are in Vizima when Geralt gets hired to find a missing person.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character(s), Original Male Character(s)/Original Male Character(s), geralt of rivia/yennefer of vengerberg (mentions)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 71





	Talk

**Author's Note:**

> This is set some time between "Eternal Flame" and "Sword of Destiny" in the book timeline.

Vizima was not terrible in terms of its accommodations. Being the capital of Temeria, there were a good deal of places to visit, though it was certainly no Novigrad. It wasn’t the cultural hub of the known world and, in some ways, it showed. Vizima had a bit of... shabbiness that Novigrad did not. And it was smaller. Instead of the thirty thousand permanent residents and the zoo and countless taverns, inns, shops, brothels, it was more modest. About ten thousand permanent residents lived in Vizima.

Another day, another contract. This time, it was some kind of vampiric creature. Never seen during the day, whatever it was left slashed and torn corpses mostly drained of blood. Whatever it was (and Geralt said that it was several possible sorts of vampires), it attacked the inebriated exclusively.

Geralt himself was annoyed with the prospect, since there were many taverns and inns, and, in a city like this, alcohol was the drink of choice because the water was... questionable. And there was a festival coming up within the next week, so some people were celebrating prematurely.

Dandelion ate and drank Geralt looked at a small map in the corner of the inn they were staying at. As the night wore on, Geralt did a few things that Dandelion noticed. First, he’d set aside his map of the city, and second, he started ordering drinks. A lot of drinks.

“You should eat something,” Dandelion said. “You’ve just been drinking the whole night.”

“That’s the plan,” Geralt said.

“And what would that plan be, exactly, Geralt?”

“The victims were all piss drunk, so I’m going to need to be drunk for this,” he said. “Lure out the creature. From the marks on the corpse I saw earlier, it looked like a lesser vampire’s bites.”

“Are you sure that’s the best idea, Geralt? Maybe we could just follow one of the patrons who’s already dead drunk on their way out.”

“That would be too risky for the drunkard, Dandelion. No, better I get drunk and leave before the rest of them.”

Geralt finished his ale and indicated for another one. A young girl came over with another and took back the empty mug, hurrying off.

“The mutations make getting drunk harder. Fast metabolism and endurance to toxicity. Very useful when fighting kikimoras and endregas. Not useful for this.”

Dandelion waved over the girl again and pulled out some coin. “Get my friend some of the strongest stuff you have.”

“Nilfgaardian lemon?”

Dandelion smiled and nodded. “That sounds wonderful.”

She gave him a confused look and took the money, coming back with a bottle of strong liquor smelling faintly of lemon.

Geralt shook his head. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Dandelion shrugged. “I didn’t have to, but if you need to be drunk before the rest of these bastards, then you need something much stronger than ale.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, though he had the ghost of a grin on his face.

Geralt drunk it down fairly quickly. He blinked and his pupils changed, blowing out not too long after the alcohol hit his system. He took out a small vial, pure black liquid inside and drank it down.

“What was that, Geralt?”

“Potion- Black Blood. If the vampire drinks my blood, it’ll get poisoned.” Geralt shakily headed toward the door. Dandelion stood up to follow him, but saw a small gesture. “Stay inside. I’m serious.”

His tone didn’t broach an argument, so Dandelion stayed at their table. Geralt headed outside.

Dandelion took the time to listen to the rumors floating about the tavern- something about a werewolf (the details were so muddled as to be useless), something about a brothel that supposedly had vampires involved, something about a goat man being randomly spotted darting through the city. Local politics, the buzz surrounding the upcoming Midsummer festival...

Not too long later, he heard the gasp and the clatter of dishes on the floor when the door opened and he looked over. He wasn’t surprised by any of the reaction, though, seeing the girl having dropped what she was serving.

Geralt’s eyes would turn jet black when he drank certain potions. The veins on his face against his pale skin and that combined to have a downright scary effect for most people. He walked in, ignoring the other people in the inn and an uncomfortable quiet hung over the room. He sat back down by Dandelion.

“That’s one Plumard dead.”

“What was the price on that thing, anyway?”

“Two hundred.”

“Seems a bit low,” Dandelion said.

“Plumards are a lesser vampire,” Geralt said. The effect of him chatting away like this so calmly while looking like he did got them quite a few glances, but most had taken that as a signal to continue their previous conversations.

Though, for Dandelion, the unnerving part was he didn’t know where precisely Geralt was looking after he drank certain potions. It was useful know where the witcher’s attention was.

“...You should eat something, Geralt. You’re swaying.”

Geralt moved his hand to get the girl’s attention. Dandelion noticed her pointedly avoiding looking over to their table in the corner and headed over to her. “Hey.”

“Yes?” She avoided looking him in the eyes.

“I was wondering if I could get some food for my friend.” He handed her some coin. “I know he looks scary, but he doesn’t bite.”

“I’m not going over there,” she said in a whisper. Her eyes flicked to where Geralt was for just a second.

“Fine, give me the plate and I’ll give it to him.”

She accepted the coin and nodded. Dandelion lingered until she came back out with a plate and Dandelion brought some food back for Geralt. Geralt’s face lost some of the veins in the interim, though he was still obviously drunk and still had the jet black eyes.

Geralt didn’t say anything.

“Oh, don’t go moping again, Geralt. She is a child. She’s probably heard some pretty nasty stuff in this town with people who don’t spend their time killing zeugls and vampires.” He ate, still with that somewhat pensive look on his face. “Anyway, why would a vampire get a taste for a specific kind of blood? Like where someone’s drunk or something to that effect?” Dandelion wondered aloud.

“I think it makes the vampire drunk,” Geralt said. “I remember Eskel was talking about another contract like that.”

They eventually retired to their room. It was a roof over their heads and a proper mattress instead of bedrolls. He just accepted the witcher’s arm wrapped around him. It was a comfort to share a bed with someone, friend or partner or lover.

Dandelion turned so he was facing Geralt, whose eyes were slowly losing the blackish coloration, turning back to gold and catlike. The veins had mostly faded from his face. “What’s on your mind? You’re normally not this touchy.”

Geralt removed his arm from Dandelion, a bit too quickly. “Sorry.”

“Oh, no, you misunderstand me, my dear,” Dandelion said. “I’ve no objections, I was just wondering why. You like to stew.”

“I was thinking that I should probably not come in to an inn when I just drank a potion.”

“My friend, you care too much about what others think of you,” Dandelion said.

“I also overheard what you told the girl.”

Dandelion laughed. “And? She wanted someone to agree with her. She can’t be more than ten, so she’s probably heard stupid stories about witchers.”

Geralt huffed and turned away.

“Geralt,” Dandelion said, draping his arm around Geralt. Geralt didn’t move it. “They’ll believe whatever they like, no matter what you try to do.”

“You like to prod.”

“That I do.”

Geralt turned again, this time staring at the ceiling. Dandelion propped himself up on his elbow, his gold hair hanging down as he looked at Geralt’s expression. It was a mingled sorrow and hurt. “I can’t just stop caring because my mutations got screwed up, Dandelion. I still feel. Witchers aren’t supposed to feel.”

“...Let me rephrase, then. It still hurts, people judging, but you’ve got to learn to accept that there’s always people like that. People have lots of opinions about lots of things they know fuck all about, Geralt. Focus instead on the people you actually care about and who know who you are and care for you.”

“Is that how you get by?”

“Yes, Geralt. I’m estranged from my family. It hurt at first. But they didn’t want me, they wanted someone else. Likewise, a lot of people may want a monster hunter, but they don’t want a real monster hunter. They want the knights of old songs, not the reality of a witcher. And they’re worse off for it.”

“Talking like that, you sound almost like Nenneke.”

“Ah, yes! I’ll go off to a convent and become a celibate monk,” Dandelion joked, patting Geralt on the chest. “Clearly that is the life I’m suited for. And you, too, now that I think of it. All this monster hunting and drinking and traveling is you missing your true calling.”

Geralt smiled. “Clearly.”

“Anyway, I’ll be going to bed. Don’t stay up moping. Goodnight.”

Dandelion laid back down and closed his eyes.

“Goodnight,” Geralt muttered.

In the morning, they headed out for Geralt to collect the bounty. The corpse of the Plumard was draped along Roach’s back and Geralt and Dandelion walked alongside her. It definitely earned a few strange looks as they made their way through the quarters.

“What do you reckon we should do once you turn in the proof of that monster’s slaying to the guard? Maybe we could go see if we can worm our way in to the castle. Or maybe we could go out to the lake, see if we can catch some fish. Or there’s the brothels. I hear the House of the Queen of the Night is supposed to be excellent. Never been before, but the rumors... Well, the rumors sound right up your alley as a witcher, now that I think about it. Someone at the inn was saying the women working there were vampires. Of course, there’s also rumors that witchers sour milk with their glares, so maybe we shouldn’t listen to it...”

Geralt remained quiet through the chatter as Dandelion looked around. A guard stopped them at the gate to the foreign quarter. “Halt. What is that?”

“The vampire who was draining drunkards. Bounty of two hundred orens.”

The guard waved another over, who took the body off of Roach and the first went away for a bit, coming back with a sack of orens.

They moved along the path, Dandelion chattering away again. “Overheard in the inn, the story goes there’s supposedly a werewolf in town, too, though nobody’s been attacked. Just sightings.” He wasn’t going to mention something specific just yet, even if he did know Geralt well enough.

“I’m not going to hunt a werewolf who isn’t killing anyone,” Geralt said.

“Your code?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose you have problems with that,” Dandelion said, playing a note before adjusting the strings of his lute, in response to at the slightly flat note.

“What do you mean?” Geralt stopped and Roach bumped her head against him, snorting. There was a bit of a hurt tone to his voice and Dandelion knew he’d phrased that somewhat wrong.

“I mean you having problems with some village or town coming across something they think needs to be killed, but it doesn't.”

“That’s exactly what happened with the dragon hunt, if you recall, among other incidents.”

“Yes, but I mean in a more general sense,” Dandelion said. “It would be a problem if a witcher comes around, but everyone knows them for not killing the local monsters.”

Geralt nodded once and adjusted his headband before they made their way north through the trade district. As they went around, Geralt got more ingredients for his potions, and another whetstone, Dandelion found both parchment he needed and some ink.

Geralt handed off his silver sword for repairs at a local blacksmith. Silver, being such a soft metal, required constant upkeep if it had to be used, even with the steel core.

“A few days in Vizima until it’s done. What do you reckon we could get up to until that time?”

“Could be some contracts. Rare, most creatures don’t get into the city that aren’t intelligent, but occasionally a mage does something stupid.”

“And there’s the festivals, Geralt. Vizima’s Midsummer is not quite as festive as its Beltane, but it is a multi-day event.”

They eventually headed out to the nonhuman district and to one of the inns there, the Golden Shrike. Dandelion got some strange looks from the elves and dwarves and halflings (and the much rarer gnomes) in this part of town- his hair was shorter at the moment, so he wasn’t mistaken for elven blood very often- but he kept to Geralt, happily chattering away.

He started playing his lute, playing a jaunty, happy tune, befitting the state he was in, though he couldn’t quite make the words come. It was an odd situation to be in as a troubadour, having the feeling of music and having the feeling of not quite having words to a song at the tip of your tongue.

As he played, he got a few looks and he smiled and winked flirtatiously.

Geralt remained silent and they got to the Golden Shrike. They’d occasionally been there before and they got a room and Dandelion ordered a bath for them. Soon enough, it was drawn up and they started washing. Dandelion shampooed Geralt’s hair, his hairband long since abandoned.

“Surprised you’re not flirting with more people in the town than you already were.”

“I think it’s best if we don’t get run out of town until after your sword’s done,” Dandelion said happily. “Silver witcher swords aren’t cheap and we’ve already had enough problems with coin or you losing your swords. Close your eyes.”

Dandelion then rinsed his hair with a bucket of water.

“I’m also considering how we can get into the castle for the party around Midsummer. I think it’d be worth our while.”

“I’ve helped King Foltest before. If he needs me, he’ll summon me.”

“Not at all interested in the court members and any of that?” Dandelion asked.

“No. Witchers don’t play politics.”

Dandelion got out a small blade and worked up some lather. “You say you never want to get involved, but you always get involved, my friend.”

“I’m just remembering the last banquet in a royal court I went to is all.”

“Oh? Do tell me about it,” Dandelion said as he dabbed the cream on Geralt’s face.

“You’ll nick my face if I keep talking.”

Dandelion sighed and started passing over the blade across Geralt’s skin, shaving the stubble. There was a certain level of trust there, a witcher willingly allowing someone not trained specifically to shave hair approaching his throat with a blade. “Very well, but I am also hoping to get more coin for us, I confess. Having extra money on hand never hurts.”

Geralt just hummed in response.

“A good many members of the court patronize the arts, you understand. It’s extremely lucrative for troubadours, bards, and others to perform for them and for the members of courts to take a liking to performers.”

“And you patronize them back, getting into bed with them.”

“They’re not being satisfied by their relationships if they’re so willing to hop into bed with me at the barest excuse. Or perhaps they need a taste of something different.”

Geralt chuckled as Dandelion cleaned the blade off. “And yet you have multiple fiancees. Someone might say you’re the same way, not satisfied with your relationships.”

“I am who I am. They see what they want to see, though, and think because I sing pretty songs about love that I’m somehow going to whisk them away and have eyes only for them.”

“Ever consider settling down with anyone?”

“Gods, no. I’m not made for monogamy, Geralt.”

Geralt fell silent, though Dandelion could almost feel a tension to it.

“You’re thinking about Yennefer, aren’t you?”

“...Yeah.”

Dandelion finished up and handed Geralt a cloth to wipe away the excess cream. “You want to talk?”

“I... don’t know,” Geralt said awkwardly.

“Geralt, I care for you and I’ll tell you now, as your friend...” Dandelion leaned on the edge of the tub, looking into Geralt’s eyes. “The expectation of perfection is going to hurt you. And the sooner both of you understand that, the better.”

“Says the poet whose job is to sing all about fairy-tale romances.”

“Geralt, I care about you, but your incessant refusal to accept the good things in the world and write it off as nonsense is deeply offensive to my sensibilities as a poet. And you two really need to talk more. If you want to make this work. It’s all well and good to love your sorceress, to delight in the physicality, but...”

“I’m not sure I should be taking relationship advice from you. Most of your affairs end in you getting chased out of town.”

“Different people and circumstances, Geralt.”

Geralt stood up, his body lithe, a wiry strength like a dancer crossed with a fighter. With his armor and profession, people expected much more muscle and bulk, but Dandelion knew better.

Dandelion stripped and got into the tub, submerging himself and washing up. Geralt in turn started scrubbing his hair.

“So, Geralt, I am curious now. Your senses are enhanced, that’s a generally true statement?”

“Yeah.”

“How does that work, then? How strong are your senses?”

“Very.”

“But how strong? I’ve seen you track monsters through scent, you can eavesdrop with startling ease... I’m surprised nobody tries to hire witchers for assassinations. Those skills, your ability to see in the dark, how hard you are to kill...”

“No, they do try,” Geralt said. “That’s what happened to some in the Cat School. They started taking jobs hunting humans.”

Dandelion fell silent.

“Close your eyes.” He did so and water splashed down on his head. He rubbed his eyes. “What brought on those kinds of questions, Dandelion?”

“Just wondering how do you stand all the background noise, the chatter of the people below in the tavern, the smells of a city, the bright sunlight, with those kinds of senses? Maybe it’s because I can’t imagine it, but it seems like it’d be overwhelming and hard to focus on.”

“I’m used to it. It’s like shutting out it, if that makes sense.”

“I see.”

Dandelion felt pressure as calloused fingers worked along his shoulders. “What are you-?”

“Relax.”

“I should probably be doing that to you. You’re the one always in knots, swinging that sword around,” Dandelion said.

“I’ll stop.”

“I didn’t say stop,” Dandelion said, relaxing into the touch.

They dressed and retired to their room for the afternoon, fresh and clean. They’d head downstairs later and get a meal.

When they went downstairs, Geralt was still in the corner while Dandelion performed and chattered away with the people in the inn. It was more dwarves than elves, Dandelion noted, though that wasn’t too surprising in this place. The Golden Shrike was right by several dwarven businesses, though the owner of the inn was an elf woman named Vandra. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with raven-black hair and warmly tanned skin, but shot Dandelion down immediately upon an attempt to flirt with her.

He considered it her loss.

Soon afterward, he’d started chatting with some dwarves, including Yarpen. “Hello, Yarpen! Great to see you again.”

“Hello, Larkspur.”

“It’s _Dandelion_.”

“Still with the witcher, I see,” Yarpen said, drinking his ale and eyeing the corner where Geralt sat.

“Having adventures, seeing sights, his work is prime material for all sorts of songs. Anyway, how about you? How’ve the adventures been since the gold dragon?”

“Slew a gargantuan manticore in Brugge. Price on its head was a thousand crowns.”

“Six and a half thousand orens,” Dandelion said, calculating it out from the last he heard of the exchange rate. “Quite a sum.”

“Seven thousand orens,” Yarpin said. “We’ve been doing pretty damn good.”

“So what brings you to Vizima?”

“Same as your witcher, most likely. Contracts on a few beasts. Can’t let these bastards get soft on me.”

“He’s been awfully stingy on the details,” Dandelion said. “But we were passing through Vizima to get his sword repaired and some stuff for potions.”

The conversation fell into a lull and, eventually, Dandelion made his way back to Geralt’s table and got some food and drink. “Oren for your thoughts.”

“Not much to say,” Geralt said. “Just enjoying the quiet.”

They sat there for a while, talking, until Vandra came over to the two of them. Dandelion noticed how she was keeping her attention focused on Geralt.

“Witcher.”

“Ma’am.”

“May we speak in private?” she asked. “I have work for you.”

Geralt nodded and stood up. Dandelion went to follow, but Vandra gestured for him to sit down.

 _“I have misgivings about a human learning of this,”_ she said in Elder Speech.

_“He’s one of the few people I trust, human or nonhuman.”_

Dandelion smiled at Vandra, but got a wary look in return. “ _If you think I didn’t understand you, you would be wrong,_ ” Dandelion said, shrugging.

“...Very well. Come with me, in the back.”

They made their way to a back room. It was a bit cramped, with a few barrels of ale along the wall and salted fish hanging from the rafters.

“What’s this about?” Geralt asked.

“My son, Elderil, is missing. I know it’s not your usual work, a witcher hunts monsters and beasts, but tracking is something you are good at, yes?”

“...I can,” Geralt said, his eyes settling on Dandelion for a second.

“I’m not sure if it was a monster, because there are stories of monsters in this city, including a creature that drinks blood.”

“I killed that one last night.”

She smiled weakly. “I don’t know if it’s a human who hurt my son, or if it’s a monster. You see... my son’s a bright boy, but troubled. He and his friends had organized a group to patrol the non-human section of the city, keep it safe from people who cause trouble, because the guard does very little around here. And when they do... well...”

Her voice trailed off and Dandelion and Geralt shared a glance. Such guards, being human in Vizima, would probably just as likely hurt the nonhumans as anyone already hurting them.

“You think it’s possible he got abducted?”

“It’s possible, but... there was no sign of a struggle. He came home the night he disappeared, went to his room, and when I went upstairs later. He falls asleep reading many nights and I put the candle out. But he wasn’t there. The window was open and he was gone.”

“Is it possible he had a lover he sneaked out to see?” Dandelion asked.

“I don’t believe so. He would have surely come back if it were something so simple.”

“Can I see where this happened?” Geralt asked.

She nodded.

The next building over was where they lived, a smallish place. The moon was nearly full out and they headed inside. Geralt almost immediately headed upstairs while Vandra lit a candle and Dandelion waited with her. They headed upstairs to see Geralt examining a small book.

“No signs of a struggle is correct. It’s almost like he vanished.” He set down the book on the bed and opened the window, examining the frame.

“When did it happen?” Dandelion asked.

“About five nights ago. I’ve been asking people if they’ve seen him, but they have no idea, and I don’t want to talk to the city guard about this. And he wasn’t one of the victims of the vampire, thank the gods.”

“Did you speak with any of his friends about his disappearance?” Geralt asked, closing the window and going over to the fireplace. It wasn’t burning and, in the dim light, Dandelion couldn’t make out any details other than ash and old remnants of wood from a previous fire.

“I tried, but it wasn’t any help. They dismissed the suggestion he was harmed out of hand, but they wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Do you have any names or descriptions of his friends? Maybe we could talk to him.”

“They won’t talk with a dh’oine by your side,” Vandra said, looking at Dandelion.

“I’ll go alone, then.”

“Alright... they’re usually at the Maribor Forest in their down time, a potion shop. Three of them. But don’t go there now. If you approach at night, they’ll think you’re trying to cause trouble.”

Not too long after, after Geralt had fully looked over the room, they returned to the inn and retired to their room.

“...I’m not sure, but I think your lover’s tryst theory might not be so far-fetched, Dandelion,” Geralt said.

“Really?” Dandelion beamed.

“There was the faint wear on the windowsill like a rope had been used to climb up or down out of it, repeatedly, along with fibers. He might’ve been sneaking out. It also explains some of the paper fragments in the fireplace and his choice of book. A tome of Althak’s poetry.”

(Althak was a dwarven poet who was known for his ballads and poetry about lovers.)

“Why would he disappear, then?”

“It’s possible his mother wouldn’t approve of it.”

“He fall for a human, do you think?”

“No... the room smelled different from that. Not human, but it wasn’t elf or dwarf or any of the other races like that. More... monstrous, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions.”

Geralt crawled into bed and Dandelion started playing his lute softly. “I don’t mind hearing what your current theory is.”

Geralt shook his head. “Not sure and it isn’t good to speculate.”

In the morning, Geralt headed to Maribor Forest. He stepped into the shop and let the smells of all the dried herbs and plants and potions hit him and he quickly tried to filter through them. “Hello,” a young elven man behind a counter said. “You’re a witcher, correct?”

The elf looked like a young adult, which must’ve put him at about eighty. Geralt figured that Elderil would be about the same age. Such an age would be equivalent to a human in their mid to late twenties. (Though that still made Elderil older than either he or Dandelion.)

“Correct.”

“What’re you needing? I’m afraid we don’t do much trade in monster parts, but we’ve got more than enough tallow and herbs for anything you might mix up.”

Geralt idly looked around at a few strings of mushrooms and a garland of garlic. “I’m not just here for ingredients,” he said.

“Oh?” The elf’s voice had the faintest edge of anxiety to it and his heart rate and breathing got slightly quicker.

“A woman hired me to find her son because he’s gone missing.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Vandra from the Golden Shrike. She was saying he had some friends here, but she didn’t want the guard involved or any humans. She’s scared they were the ones after him.”

Geralt grabbed a few myrtle pedals.

“That,” the elf said. “Look, Elderil’s fine. He just needs some time is all. No humans have kidnapped him. If they had, we would’ve told her. She’d deserve at least that much.”

“Any trouble at all? Maybe a curse or... I can help,” Geralt said. “Witchers may be known as monster hunters, but cursebreaking is a common part of the job.”

“No curses,” he said, vigorously shaking his head. “There’s nothing like that going on, witcher. Just leave it be and he’ll come back in a few more days.”

Geralt frowned, staring directly at him.

The elf man stared back at him. “Just drop it.”

Geralt got the feeling he wasn’t going to get anywhere with this man, so he paid for the flowers and left.

Heading back to the inn, he noticed two things. First, Roach had been taken care of. Second, Dandelion was gone. Where to in this city, he had fuck all idea. The road by the Golden Shrike was already covered in tracks, so he didn’t have a trail of footsteps to follow.

So he had to think like Dandelion.

Either he got bored and decided to go out carousing, which was a major possibility, or he went out to look for Elderil himself. So, if he did go out to investigate, he would’ve been looking for places that fit the theory of two lovers seeing each other in secret. Geralt himself wasn’t particularly knowledgeable of the layout of the city in that regard.

(Actually, that would probably be where they could find the trail, now that he thought of it.)

He set off, asking occasional passersby of if they’d seen a blond human man with a plum bonnet and egret feather, and a lute. Most didn’t have a clue or shrugged it off, but he slowly got a decent picture- heading east-southeast. He also heard that the blond man was instead luteless, which was unusual if he was in fact trying to seduce people. His musical talent was something he leaned on for that.

About halfway through the city and just past its center, he heard a stammered apology in a familiar voice.

“-orry, sorry, I was looking for someone else.”

“Dandelion?” Geralt called up, looking at the source of the sound. Dandelion was on a small balcony, climbing down to an adjacent roof. A young woman with unruly brown hair and a dark blue dress was fuming at him. But her gaze flicked over to Geralt when he spoke.

“He with you, white-hair?” the woman shouted.

“Yeah, he got lost. Sorry about that,” he shouted back.

She gave a perplexed look to him, the anger having vanished, like she was calculating something in her head, then headed back inside. Dandelion climbed down from the roof and adjusted his clothes.

“What were you doing?” Geralt asked.

“Looking in places where lovebirds in the city spend their time,” Dandelion said. “I figure if the two of them are doing something, they’d want someplace like that.”

“How many places like that are there in the city?”

Dandelion started heading down the road. “Too many. What did you find out, Geralt?”

“His friend says he didn’t get abducted, that it wasn’t humans who caused it. He was also saying to wait for a few more days.”

“That’s odd.”

“I know. I offered to help if it was some kind of curse, but his friend also said it wasn’t. But, getting back to it, can we narrow down places that would allow for lovers to stay there for a week? Or longer?”

“Thankfully only a few.”

“Lead the way.”

Dandelion wove his way through the city like a nimble tomcat on the prowl. Geralt found it almost amusing, the reversal of who was tracking. Though he supposed it was Dandelion’s element.

Dandelion stopped and pointed at a small place near the cemetery. “You want to bet someone’d be up there? It’s not a popular spot, since it looks over graves, but it’s close to the market without being on a main thoroughfare.”

Geralt shrugged and they set to heading up through the scafolding to a small door on a third story. The scent of old dry blood and faint bloodstains along the wood to this deck or balcony or alcove set his teeth on edge.

Dandelion pushed it open and Geralt was hit with several smells. One was sex, which he’d expected, both old and new. Food. Sweat. Elf. There was a strong smell of medicinal herbs. And the last was a mix of blood and... It made him draw his sword as he stepped in front of Dandelion.

“Geralt, what are you doing?” Dandelion whispered.

The room was furnished excellently, with soft and fine fabrics, and a few candles burned nearby. Old, bloodstained bandages and rags were in a small basket nearby. Food and wine and water were at a small table.

On a large bed lay an elven man, asleep, his body tangled up in blankets. But sitting nearby, at the edge of the bed was a man with horns. A tail flicked gently along the bedsheets. He had hooves for feet, but he wasn’t a sylvan. And he was clearly naked. He smiled a brilliant, lazy smile to them. The only thing marring his beauty was a series of bandages wrapped around his throat and torso, smelling of dried blood and herbs.

“Incubus,” Geralt said under his breath.

“Well, well, a witcher and a pretty boy,” the incubus said. He shook his head and his dark hair fell in artful curly locks. “We could have a party...”

“We’re here for Elderil. His mother’s worried sick about him,” Geralt said.

“Sheath that sword, witcher. I’m not fighting you,” the incubus said. “He and I are lovers.”

“He’s disappeared from his previous life,” Geralt said. “I know his friends are covering for you two, but you two can’t keep going on like this.”

The elven man stirred, but remained asleep.

“I was one of the people attacked by some monster the one night I decided to drink. Speaking of which, witcher, why are you not hunting that instead?” the incubus asked.

“Killed it already.”

The incubus looked toward Elderil and there was an odd... tenderness to his expression. “I hope you don’t decide killing me is a good course of action. Elderil’s been taking care of me willingly until I’m healed. Otherwise, we would have continued our usual arrangement.”

“What sort of arrangement was that?” Dandelion asked.

“It’s private, but I see your witcher might want to run me through... our usual arrangement was me whisking him away at intervals. In the dead of night, occasionally. Or during days he wasn’t working. He knows he can’t feed me all the time without hurting himself. I am an incubus, so we’re... flexible on certain points. But it’s much harder to feed when... well...” He gestured to the bandages.

“Why wouldn’t he just tell her?” Dandelion asked.

The breathing and heart rate on the elf got faster, he’d awakened, Geralt noted. Geralt sheathed his sword quietly. The incubus’s demeanor shifted, relaxed.

“Imagine that for a second, pretty boy. A mother would worry, would fret, and would insist on trying to get someone to save him from some horrid fiend corrupting him. And you know how humans and elves are, witcher,” the incubus said. The incubus’s eyes bore into Geralt. “We merely feed on what’s already there. Yet somehow we’re to blame for the lusts of the other races.”

Geralt glanced over to Dandelion, who looked almost fascinated by the incubus and clearly affected by the incubus’s pheromones.

Elderil sat up, blinking blearily at them. “Friends of yours?” Elderil asked.

“No. It seems your mother was frightened something happened to you and hired a witcher.”

“She knows?” Elderil sounded mortified and his heart rate jumped a bit.

Geralt held up his hands. “She doesn’t know what happened. She just didn’t want the local guard involved and witchers are good at finding people.”

Elderil took a deep breath and scooted closer to the incubus, keeping the blankets over his lower half. “I can’t go back yet. She’ll watch me like a hawk, scared I’ll run off again...”

“Is she very protective?” Dandelion asked.

Both Elderil and the incubus nodded.

“Come back in a few days. I’ll come back with you then.”

“You sure you don’t need any help?” Geralt asked, keeping his eyes on the incubus.

“What is that supposed to mean, witcher?”

“Succubi and incubi can have large appetites when injured. I was wondering if we could find someone to help you, so Elderil doesn’t exhaust himself.”

The incubus’s expression softened.

“It’s not been an issue,” Elderil said.

“Believe me, even people in their prime can hurt themselves. Succubi and incubi release pheromones when they need to feed and it can mess with someone who isn’t either one of them or a witcher.”

“Geralt,” Dandelion said sharply, glaring at him. “Be less rude.”

“I wouldn’t.” The incubus huffed and crossed his arms.

“Just let the room air out, then. It’ll keep your heads clearer,” Geralt said.

There was silence for a bit.

“Come back the day after tomorrow,” Elderil said. “I’ll head back with you two then.”

Geralt nodded and turned to leave. Dandelion stayed in place for a bit, then slowly followed him out.

“You okay?” Geralt asked as they headed back to the Golden Shrike. Dandelion was awfully quiet.

“Yeah, yeah... just... feeling a bit light-headed,” Dandelion said, shaking his head. “And I frankly want to do all sorts of things now. Well, I already wanted to do them, but...”

“He wasn’t lying. An incubus or succubus bring forward what already exists in a person.”

The next day, Geralt noted the large amount of people in the streets compared to the past few days, many of them dressed well and many with flower wreaths in their hair, both men and women.

“You know, we could help, too,” Dandelion said. “Give the elf a break.”

“Not sure,” Geralt said. “It’s a touchy topic when one of them gets a long-term partner. Could end up causing problems with their relationship.”

“Is that so? Why don’t we just try talking to them?”

Geralt looked over to Dandelion, who was humming softly. He’d not taken his lute with him to keep up the illusion they were actually looking for Elderil, he guessed. “True, we could.”

“They’d already admitted that one of them still goes out...”

“It’s one thing to know it, it’s another to see it,” Geralt said.

“I suppose that was like what happened with Istredd and you and Yennefer, correct? He knew there were other paramours, but when you showed up and how serious it was...”

Geralt gave Dandelion a weary look.

“Right, then, shouldn’t talk about that, even though it’s been, what, how long?”

“It is a sore topic,” Geralt admitted. It was a few years, but still...

“You do have to deal with your feelings about it, though. Bottling it up and ignoring it never works out for people.”

“I’m just thinking about... what Istredd said.”

“Geralt, you are often an idiot when it comes to these affairs.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Dandelion,” Geralt said dryly.

“You misunderstand me, my friend. You have a nasty habit of seeing yourself as unworthy of the finer things in life. You latch onto any possible excuse for why you don’t deserve good things that happen to you and ignore all the reasons you should have and deserve a good thing that could happen to you.”

“And your point?”

“You deserve good things to happen to you, Geralt.”

Geralt watched Dandelion, who was flitting about happily, looking at a few garlands at a marketplace.

“I don’t know if I should thank you.”

“What are friends for if not to help you?” Dandelion exchanged a few coins and got a pair of flower wreaths. He handed one to Geralt, the one woven with buttercups and dandelions.

“Mmm.”

Dandelion placed the wreath (white lilies) on his head. Geralt followed suit, but kept his headband on underneath. “The castle’s events tomorrow are because of the Midsummer festival coming up. It’s great we’re in Vizima during this time, at least. A lot to enjoy,” Dandelion said. “Come on.”

Dandelion almost bounded away, but Geralt put a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps we should go talk to the pair and see if they’re doing alright.”

“You changed your mind?”

“...It’s a feeling is all.”

Dandelion nodded. “Very well...” He went back to the stand and bought a few more. “Might as well let them have something, too.”

They quietly made their way to the hidden spot again and Geralt knocked on the small door. There was a shuffling and it eventually opened, Elderil standing before them half-dressed. “What do you want?”

Dandelion held out the two flower wreaths. “We’d figured, since you were cooped up and with Midsummer just about to roll around, we’d come over and say hello.”

Elderil looked at him quizzically and a little suspiciously, but accepted the wreaths. “Alright...”

The incubus was lounging, watching them as they entered. He accepted one of the wreaths and put it on. Elderil came over and gave the incubus a kiss. Geralt noticed the heady scent of pheromones now coming off the incubus. And Geralt noted, in response, Dandelion hiding a strangled noise and smelling very strongly of arousal, more than yesterday. Elderil was probably somewhat desensitized to it, having been around the incubus for a while, but Dandelion... wasn’t.

“Well, Elderil, what do you say? Perhaps you and these two...”

Elderil made a vague gesture. “I’m not particularly interested in either of these two, so I’ll be out for some air."

Geralt understood it, to some degree. It was awkward to be involved in a threesome or foursome if someone just wasn’t interested in the others.

The incubus nodded. “Very well.”

Elderil stood up, made a small hand gesture, and headed out to the balcony. Geralt followed him, noting the incubus gesturing to Dandelion. Dandelion gave a quick glance to Geralt, a questioning look. Geralt nodded once as he went outside, not sure what to make of Dandelion’s willingness to pause like that.

Out on the balcony, Elderil sat out, looking at the gravestones. “Hey,” Geralt said, sitting next to him. “I’m not Dandelion, he usually has a lot of things to say about this because he’s the poet, but what’s on your mind?” Geralt got the impression there was something more to this situation.

“It’s not that... it’s not that I mind Lyren’s other partnerings. He’s an incubus, that’s part of his nature. And I knew that from the start, that this would be something we’d have to work around, which is fine. I just would rather not have sex with random men I’d just met, you know? I want him, not other people.”

“Understandable,” Geralt said.

“He understands it, but he still occasionally offers if I want to try. But why did you follow me out here?”

“You looked like you needed someone to talk to, Elderil.”

They sat in silence for a bit. Geralt could hear Dandelion’s muttering and gasps. Warmth started creeping into him and he wanted to distract himself.

“That gesture.” Geralt mimicked it. “What’s it mean?”

“It’s something we agreed upon. He can go ahead with his feeding while I go off to do something else. Sometimes, he can be quite insatiable.”

“Tell me about it,” Geralt said.

Elderil gave him a quizzical look.

“My friend in there may not be an incubus, but...” Geralt’s voice trailed off, the implication obvious.

“You and he are together?”

“Sometimes. When he’s not enamored with his many paramours from his travels, and when I’m not with a sorceress...”

“How do you deal with it?”

“Talk,” Geralt said.

Elderil nodded. “That’s what we’ve been doing, but it still feels strange.”

“Yeah. It’s one of those difficult things to get used to.”

They sat for a while longer.

Geralt stood up. “...So, I’m going to go in there and pull Dandelion away, because knowing him, he’ll try to keep going.”

“You want help?”

“I’ll be able to on my own.”

Geralt got up and headed back inside.

Dandelion was laid out on the bed, blissful expression on his face, naked and sprawled on the bed. In the light of the room, he looked almost like a painting that Geralt had seen in a castle a few years back, but that painting had censored the nudity with blankets draped over the lover. Lyren laid out next to him and fiddled with a lock of his gold hair, Lyren looking a bit healthier, less pale.

Geralt walked over to Dandelion, knelt down, and said, “Maybe we should go.”

Dandelion looked at him with a lazy, contented smile. His hand reached up to Geralt’s face. His fingers wove into Geralt’s hair, pulling him into a kiss. Geralt accepted it, though he could taste incubus on Dandelion’s lips.

“Should get you out of here,” Geralt said when Dandelion stopped for breath. “You’re already an oversexed peacock, Dandelion, and incubus pheromones on top of that...”

“I feel great,” Dandelion said.

“Yeah, yeah, and if you keep going, you’re going to complain tomorrow morning about being sore.”

“You know me too well. But you are right.” Dandelion got up slowly and started picking up his clothes and dressing.

Lyren muttered, as Geralt watched Dandelion, “Keep him safe. He really is sweet on you.”

Geralt remained silent.

“Anyway, witcher, is this where we’ll part?” Lyren said louder, so Dandelion could hear.

“We do have to come back for Elderil tomorrow,” Dandelion said, putting on his flower wreath.

“I should be recovered enough by then,” Lyren said. “Though I wouldn’t be averse to a round with the witcher, if neither of you mind.”

Geralt shook his head. “You’re not my type.”

“Very well, though it is a pity. I’ve heard stories from a few succubi and another incubus about witchers as excellent lovers,” Lyren said, smiling at him. It was a genuine smile instead of the cultivated look he gave day before. “But have a drink or find a warm bed with someone in it, in my stead, shall you? I would normally participate in the festivities over the next few days but...” He shrugged. “Best not strain myself.”

Geralt nodded once, curtly. When they left, Elderil slipped inside the building.

The streets that night were full of people. Dandelion almost pulled him along and Geralt accepted it. They grabbed some food and some beer as people continued onward. Afterward, Geralt noticed Dandelion was pulling them away from the crowds and back in the direction of the Golden Shrike. “You have a plan?”

“Thought we should celebrate on our own.”

“Bath first,” Geralt said.

“What? Why?”

“You still smell like incubus. It doesn’t affect me, but it does affect you,” Geralt said. “It doesn’t ruin your ability to say no if you don’t want something, but I’d feel more comfortable if I knew you weren’t about to hurt yourself trying to fuck because you keep getting high on pheromones.”

Dandelion laughed and said, “Fine.”

They got a bath drawn up and Dandelion hopped in first this time, scrubbing himself. “It’s such a shame they have no effect on you. I feel great.”

“If we were affected by their pheromones, we’d have a lot harder time dealing with them.”

Dandelion let himself sink up to his chin into the water. Geralt started washing his hair. “So, sword should be ready tomorrow,” Geralt said.

“Geralt, awkward small talk is just that.”

“And what would you have me talk about?”

“You speak like you’ve dealt with incubi and succubi before and you did reach immediately for your sword. Yet you had no problem with him later...”

“While most of them just want to feed, some attract attention. Either someone believes them to be a demon and wants to get rid of them, especially if their attraction is... an inconvenience, or the incubus or succubus is actually dangerous.”

“Dangerous how? Spreading disease or...?”

“No, they can’t spread diseases. There are a few who don’t particularly care about what happens to who they’re with or what they’re doing. Some have died from the physical stress, some go mad, sometimes the incubus or succubus doesn’t care about the willingness of the people they’re feeding on... Those kinds get hunted down by witchers. Close your eyes.”

Dandelion obliged and Geralt rinsed his hair. Soon after, they switched places.

“So, then, Geralt, what did you mean by inconvenient attractions?”

“Think about it like this,” Geralt said, scrubbing his arms. “If you think of yourself one way, a devoted lover who’d never turn to another person, or a person only interested in one kind of person, and one of them came along and proved the idea wrong, you’re going to say they put the thought into your head, that they are tempting you. And there are the incubi and succubi who kill in self-defense.” Geralt waved a hand awkwardly. “Those are ones we get hired to kill, but don’t.”

“I see,” Dandelion said.

“Sometimes people don’t like that new knowledge of themselves,” Geralt said.

Dandelion started washing his hair, humming a small tune. After a bit, he said, “I am considering some kind of composition over what happened. Two secret lovers, one a tempting spirit, another a normal person, but them in love despite the nature of the spirit.”

“Does one of them die tragically?” Geralt asked dryly.

“Of old age.”

“Already better than that mermaid one you wrote, then,” Geralt said.

“Alas, that is what a muse whispered at the time.”

“Your muse whispers so many things,” Geralt said. “Perhaps you shouldn’t listen to her every time. She’s awfully fickle.”

“I’ll have you know that my muses are as varied as the flowers and beasts of the field. Close your eyes.” Dandelion rinsed his hair off. “You want a shave again? It’s been a few days.”

“I’ll be good for another day,” Geralt said indifferently, feeling the faint scruff with a hand, and got out of the tub.

When they retired to the room and the door shut, Dandelion was on him almost in an instant, a hand in Geralt’s hair and another that went to his waist and moving downward.

“Easy,” Geralt said gently, grabbing one of Dandelion’s wrists and pulling his hand away from his hip.

Dandelion smiled and pulled away. “Sorry about that, Geralt. I’ve been on edge for a while now.”

“I noticed,” Geralt said quietly.

Dandelion smiled once more, his cornflower blue eyes glittering. “I would love nothing more than your company.”

“You tell that to everyone, you shameless flirt,” Geralt said, tucking the blond hair behind Dandelion’s ear and kissing his neck gently.

“It’s still working, Geralt.” Dandelion beamed, dexterous fingers roaming along Geralt’s body again.

“Should just leave you here, then,” Geralt joked. “If you’re going to treat me like those starry-eyed lovers you keep seducing and leaving.”

“You wouldn’t,” Dandelion said, faux scandal in his voice.

“I would.”

Dandelion laughed. Geralt smiled.

They both knew this back and forth. If Dandelion tried to use that floral, flattering language, there was always the joke that Geralt would leave. He never left and Dandelion stopped talking like that.

Geralt was a gentle lover, that could be attested to by several people. Some would expect something different, since he was a witcher and witchers were meant to be brutal. Monstrous. The only things that were supposed to be left were the barest animalistic traits- the thrill of the hunt and the basest level of rutting.

Dandelion talked quite a bit if his mouth wasn’t busy. He muttered encouragement and praise and direction the whole time, as Geralt used his mouth on him. When he wasn’t gasping, that was. Geralt rubbed Dandelion’s hip with his thumb absentmindedly, while Dandelion ran his fingers through Geralt’s hair. They were slow-going tonight. There was no rush and the comfort of close company was something Geralt didn’t want to lose so quickly.

When Dandelion finished and Geralt swallowed, he sat up and reached for himself. Dandelion pulled Geralt’s hands away.

“I can just-”

“You really should know me better by now, Geralt.”

Dandelion went quiet soon after. It was hard to talk when your mouth was busy.

Dandelion moved downward. His fingers and mouth trailed over scars, but he avoided focusing on them- they just happened to be in the path. Geralt was grateful for that. Most would find his scars something to focus on and it made him feel strange. Like he was something exotic to them, a wild animal in a menagerie meant to be looked at.

(That Dandelion never did it made him feel almost... normal.)

Geralt wasn’t entirely sure of what to do with his hands, so he settled on putting them on Dandelion’s shoulders. He didn’t trust himself to run his fingers through Dandelion’s hair. That was the thing about his physicality that always worried him- witchers were stronger than humans and could easily hurt them.

Geralt noticed the slow pace Dandelion was going at, a mirror to his own. Dandelion was looking up at him with an odd mix of lust and something else in his eyes. It reminded him of the look Dandelion got when he was composing poetry and had just struck inspiration instead of muttering frustratedly, or when he was utterly lost in a performance.

Geralt, at times like this, was not surprised that Dandelion had gotten so many lovers across the Continent.

When he finished, Dandelion was looking up at him with a smug, satisfied grin.

“You learned a new trick,” Geralt said breathlessly.

“That incubus taught me a few things and I intend on putting them to use with my lovers,” Dandelion said, pushing himself up, letting his hands trail Geralt’s hips. “Regardless, you were tense. Do you need a back rub?”

Geralt let himself lay down on his back. Dandelion draped himself half-over Geralt, head resting on Geralt’s chest, looking at him. His gold hair was a bit messy and Geralt ran his fingers through it.

Geralt grunted. “Not right now.”

“I’m not looking for another round. Gods know I don’t have your endurance.”

“No. Comfortable like this.” And he was, the tension Dandelion noticed aside. He was content with Dandelion sprawled on top of him, looking like the cat who got the cream.

“Gonna probably fall asleep like this, on top of the blankets,” Geralt noted.

“Don’t care,” Dandelion said. “Geralt, tell me, is there something wrong? You may be tense a lot of the time from your profession, but you weren’t fighting anything today and had no reason to be so tense.”

Geralt remembered his words from earlier.

Talk.

“...I just... Witchers are very strong, Dandelion. I’m so tense because... well... if I’m not careful, I could hurt you.”

Dandelion laughed. “You always act like you’re keeping a monster at bay when talking about yourself. If you’re supposed to be one, you’re such a wonderfully gentle one, how you melt to even a single touch.” For emphasis, Dandelion stroked a finger along Geralt’s chin. Geralt almost purred.

“I’m serious, Dandelion. There was one time. I got lost in the moment and broke someone else’s bones, back when I was starting out the Path. I don’t want to put you through that.”

A mischievous grin crept onto Dandelion’s face. “That would be a hell of a story, getting so thoroughly fucked-”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Of course not. You’d be saddled with guilt for it. Though that does give me other ideas.”

Geralt huffed. “Like what?”

“Let me work out the finer details of my thoughts and let it be a surprise, perhaps.”

The next morning, Geralt woke up to Dandelion still draped across him, both of them naked. It was quiet, light streaming through as it was about an hour past dawn.

The door opened and Geralt glared at the intruder, a vaguely familiar dwarven man wearing a wreath of marigold blossoms who’d smelled strongly of alcohol. No doubt he’d stayed out until now in celebration. He started trampling in.

Dandelion blearily woke up to the noise, looking to Geralt, then to the dwarf.

“You have the wrong room,” Geralt said evenly.

The drunken dwarf only then had a look of dawning comprehension and left with a muttered apology, shutting the door behind him.

Dandelion yawned. “That’s... one way to get woken up in the morning,” he said. “Admittedly, I’ve found in worse positions, like one time in Povis...” He got off of Geralt and stretched like a cat. The two of them got cleaned up, dressed, and they headed downstairs.

As they ate, Geralt was contented. Dandelion smelled like him and he smelled like Dandelion, though the only ones who’d be able to pick up the scent would be other witchers.

(He wasn’t sure how he’d feel about that.)

Still, it was times like this he had to wonder what Dandelion was getting out of all of this. Sure, he got material for his ballads, but he already got a lot of material on his own, and as the dragon hunt had shown, he didn’t necessarily have to get Geralt to help him. He’d just show up wherever there was a promise of adventure or story. And it wasn’t as if Geralt was particularly experienced with other men and wasn’t in the mood for sex nearly as often as Dandelion, so it wasn’t that.

“Geralt, is something going on? You’ve just been staring at the door for a while now.”

“Just thinking we should head out soon. We do need to find Elderil.”

Geralt’s attention turned to the room as he ate and drank.

Yarpen and a few others of his company were eating and talking quietly. There was an elven couple in one of the corners nestled together, the woman getting her hair braided by her male lover. The drunken dwarf who’d intruded into their room quietly came down and sat with Yarpen’s men, pointedly not looking toward Geralt and Dandelion. A young elven man chatted away with a dwarf woman about local politics.

Elderil was out on the small balcony when they got up there, washed up and with only a faint smell of incubus clinging to him. (Though nearly nobody would detect it except a witcher.) “Are you ready to go?” Geralt asked.

“Yes.”

“What’re you planning to tell your mother?” Dandelion asked. “You’ve been gone for a week."

“The truth. Sort of,” Elderil said.

“Would you mind filling us in so we don’t say something that will cause problems?” Dandelion asked.

“I’ll just say a friend of mine was one of the people attacked by a vampire and I was taking care of them.”

“It... would a safe enough story,” Geralt said.

“Don’t tell her about him,” Elderil said.

“I don’t think either of us are that stupid,” Dandelion said simply, as they made their way into the street.

“When you get nervous, you start to ramble and say stupid things,” Geralt said.

“I never reveal important information when I do,” Dandelion said.

“...True. But you are obviously nervous,” Geralt said. “It makes people think there is something going on.”

They fell into silence as they headed back to the Golden Shrike. It took a while wading through the streets. A lot of the people were out celebrating. It was about midday when they got back.

Vandra stared and immediately came over to her son and pulled him into a hug. He tensed up, but reciprocated it, ignoring that they were in a tavern and some of the patrons looked over to them.

“Gods... Where were you? Are you okay? What happened?”

“A friend of mine was attacked by a vampire about a week ago,” Elderil said quietly. “There was so much blood and he kept bleeding...”

“Most kinds of vampires have anticoagulant in their saliva,” Geralt said. “It makes it easier for them to drink blood. It also means it’s harder to stop the bleeding and their bites take longer to heal.”

(Geralt noticed Dandelion slip upstairs.)

“Why didn’t you just have your friends tell me that? They knew, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, but I panicked. I didn’t want you to worry about us and we couldn’t move the person...”

“I panicked because you vanished.”

Elderil smiled awkwardly. “I was a little worried when a witcher found us. I thought he was going to kill my friend, because there’s those stories about how people attacked by vampires become vampires...”

“Those stories are untrue,” Geralt said with a shrug. “The victims of vampire attacks who die are sometimes turned into certain creatures for other reasons. People mistake that for them becoming vampires.”

Vandra let go of her son and dug a small pouch of coin out of her pocket. “Thank you, witcher.”

Geralt accepted the coin with a nod and headed back to the door. Dandelion waved goodbye and followed after him, now with his lute.

“What now?” Dandelion asked.

“I should collect my sword.”

“Right.”

Geralt put the tack on Roach gently. Dandelion sat on a nearby stool, cleaning the strings to his lute and adjusting their tension.

“I still think we should go to the party tonight at the castle. It could be quite a lot of fun.”

“...Try not to fuck some nobleman’s wife,” Geralt said.

“The heart wants what the heart wants.”

“You’re thinking with your loins again, not your heart,” Geralt snorted. He knew Dandelion.

“You’ve never been prudish and I’m reminded of... never mind,” Dandelion said as he strummed a chord to test the results. “Still, I promise I’ll try to avoid sticking things where some angry noble will be offended and try to geld me.”

“Nobody in this court you’ve already jilted or angered or broke things off with, is there?”

“Well, nobody who wants to admit anything, at least.”

Geralt adjusted the bit on Roach. She snorted.

He got the implication immediately, that the jilted lover was probably a nobleman instead of a lady, but didn’t want to say anything directly out in the open. Especially with the neighboring stall (a few gnomes preparing a small cart of goods pulled by a black gelding) occupied.

“What do you say? Want to come with me to the party?”

“You can go. I’m staying outside unless something happens. And, by something, I mean if the princess ends up turning back into a striga or something else. You know I don’t like those kinds of events.”

“Suit yourself, Geralt. But you are missing out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Not going to lie, the flower crown thing was just because I enjoyed this piece from Johix. https://johix.tumblr.com/post/190633112235/finally-finishedwhole-progress-lets-have-some


End file.
